


To The Heart From The Stomach

by KivaEmber



Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [8]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bad Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Persona 5: The Royal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: “Damn it,” Goro muttered, sounding not at all concerned about Akira's gasping death throes, “Maybe the ghost chilli was being too bold.”Or;Akechi learns how to cook.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Persona 5 Oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101845
Comments: 14
Kudos: 411





	To The Heart From The Stomach

Akira was the de facto cook of the Akechi-Kurusu household. 

Well, he said household, but it was more of a very ambitious studio apartment where Akira scrounged enough part-time job money to have a nice sort-of kitchen. Goro couldn’t be trusted with anything that required more steps than hitting the timer on the microwave, so Akira took it upon himself to expand his menu beyond Leblanc curries and keep them fed. It was a task he didn’t mind, honestly - there was something quite therapeutic about standing in front of the stove, and something equally pleasant at having the fruits of his labour openly enjoyed by his boyfriend, but… 

Well, Akira was also juggling a few part-time jobs on top of his journalistic courses, so there were days where he really didn’t want to cook. Coming home to instant ramen pots or Goro shoving some instant meal in the microwave really wasn’t good for the soul. 

But Akira never complained! Not once! Goro had his own shit going on, what with his probation (the Shido fallout had been _messy_ ), scavenging the pieces of his education and future from the ashes of his own poor life choices (due to a brief stint in jail he missed his third year exams, and the following probation meant it was difficult for him to _find_ a place to retake them) and the mandatory therapy sessions that Akira had only recently stopped frog marching him to (he now went under his own power with only one (1) sassy remark about Maruki). To pile on more things for Goro to stress about was just going to cause grief for the both of them, so Akira sucked it up. 

Until Goro, on his own, decided that this will not do. 

“I feel that there is an inequality to our relationship,” Goro said in a stilted way that made it clear he had rehearsed this line several hundred times in his head before approaching Akira, “I want to rectify it.” 

“Uh huh,” Akira said, half of his focus on the fried eggs he was tending to, half on Goro lurking near his shoulder like some grim-faced wraith expecting divine judgement. He was always dour on winter mornings, “What inequality?”

Goro gave him a look like he thought he was quite dim. 

“That,” he said, pointing at Akira’s lazy attempts at breakfast. 

“The eggs are causing inequality?”

“What do I see in you,” Goro muttered, and walked off in a sulk before Akira could even say ‘rude’. 

“Is this you saying you don’t want fried eggs for breakfast?” he called after his boyfriend’s retreating back, but the only answer he got was their bedroom door slamming shut, so Akira assumed that was a ‘yes’. 

“Well, more for me, then,” Akira decided, and didn’t think much more on the matter. 

* * *

This was clearly a mistake because later that evening, Akira returned to their apartment to the smoke alarm going off and Goro precariously standing on their breakfast bar trying to pry said alarm off the ceiling, the kitchen hazy with smoke and something smouldering on the stove. 

“I was learning how to cook,” Goro admitted quietly to him after they had fanned out the worst of the smoke and scraped whatever charred victim had been in the frying pan into the bin, “It didn’t turn out well.”

Goro looked so down from his failure that Akira didn’t have the heart to tease him, so he just said, “I can show you, if you want.” 

Unfortunately, Akira forgot Goro was a bull-headed moron. In response to this sincere offer of help, his boyfriend bristled and puffed himself up like an offended water fowl, hissing; “I can figure it out for myself! I’m not that helpless!”

As Boss would say, _hoo boy._

* * *

They quickly developed a new and dangerous habit of disabling the smoke alarm when Goro was cooking. 

“So, I’m curious,” Akira said, watching his boyfriend stiffly stir his pot of curry (maybe?) from his safe spot at the breakfast bar, “What do you do at your therapy sessions? I can’t see you crying it out on some stranger’s lap.”

“My therapist and I stare at each other for an hour,” Goro said, frowning when the rice kept sticking to the bottom of the pot, “I think she uses it as a break.” 

“That can’t be all you do.”

“... sometimes I say things,” Goro admitted distractedly, “usually it’s about you.”

“Me?” 

Goro didn’t elaborate. He frowned down into the pot, “I think I didn’t use enough water.” 

“Want me to he-”

“ _No,_ I can figure it out!”

* * *

Goro took two days to ‘figure it out’.

“Hmm,” Akira said around his mouthful as Goro hovered while trying to look like he wasn’t hovering, “It’s okay, I guess.” 

“You _guess_?” Goro looked a little put out at that.

“I mean, I think you were a bit too cautious with the spices,” Akira said honestly. Goro wouldn’t appreciate him lying to spare his feelings, “So, it’s all kind of… bland. It’s edible, though!” 

Goro levelled a glare at the curry on Akira’s plate like his stare alone could shame it into something of higher quality. 

“I see,” his boyfriend finally said after a long, calculative pause, “I will endeavour to be… _bolder_ in my cooking.” 

* * *

That proclamation was adequately ominous because the next day Goro poisoned him. 

Well, maybe that was dramatic, but the vivid red, powerful smelling curry his boyfriend had set before him stirred some primal instinct of “ _warning! do not eat!!”_ somewhere in Akira’s brain, one he foolishly squashed. Goro’s curry from yesterday had been _fine_ , so this would be equally fine, he consoled himself.

Quickly, Akira learned of his hubris. 

“ _Hhhhhh’ttt,_ ” Akira managed to choke out, banging the table with one hand while desperately panting past the burning pain searing his tongue. That one, innocuous mouthful of curry was now a burning coal that was sizzling a hole through his stomach lining, and he wasn’t enjoying the experience. 

“Damn it,” Goro muttered, sounding not at all concerned about Akira's gasping death throes, “Maybe the ghost chilli was being too bold.”

_**GHOST CHILLI?!** _

* * *

For his future health, it was agreed that Goro would taste test his abominations first before serving them to Akira. 

* * *

Days turned into weeks, and Goro steadily improved. 

The progress was slow, and there were so many failures, but instead of getting disheartened or frustrated, Goro got more and more determined and focused. After a month of this, it wasn’t unusual for Akira to come home to Goro elbow deep in some experimental dish of some kind, his phone propped up against an open page of a cookbook, avidly watching a youtube video on some random cooking thing as he worked. 

It even spilled over into their personal life outside of the kitchen, where Goro would win their rock-paper-scissors over the remote to tune into cooking shows and the like, notepad and pen at the ready to jot down tips and recipes while Akira sat there wondering what ‘ _paupiette’_ meant.

( _"_ _It’s a thin and flat piece of meat rolled with a stuffing of vegetables or fruits, which is then cooked,” Goro had replied when Akira asked, “I haven’t tried it yet myself but, hm, perhaps I can this weekend after picking up a few things…”_

_Akira lost him after that when Goro went on his phone and delved into his bookmarks of recipes.)_

However, it meant that with Goro claiming full ownership of the kitchen, Akira had to trudge all the way to Leblanc to make his curry. Boss found the whole thing amusing, when Akira had to explain why he visited solely to make use of the cafe’s kitchen, the cafe owner shaking his head and muttering something about how _‘things never change’._

There was a perk to being chased out of his own apartment to visit Leblanc though. Morgana was usually there, lazing about and getting fat off curry and fatty tuna because the Sakuras spoiled him rotten. Morgana had ‘moved out’ of Akira’s home after he declared he was getting tired of being a third wheel and that he could listen to them ‘ _doing stuff’_ only so many times before he was traumatised. 

Personally, Akira thought Morgana was protesting the strict, healthy diet Goro had been setting down for him when it turned out a lot of the stuff Akira fed him was bad for cats, but he didn’t call Morgana out on it. 

“Has he taken over the kitchen _again_ , Joker?” Morgana asked him as he wound between his ankles. Akira was in the zen-state of stirring the pot while contemplating his life and, coincidentally, Goro’s sudden passion for cooking. 

“Yeah,” Akira said, “He’s moved onto baking, so the kitchen is a no-go zone for the next few hours.” 

“Crow, _baking?_ ” Morgana huffed out an amused noise, like a cut off laugh.

“Hey, it’s a nice hobby,” Akira chided, gently bumping Morgana’s butt with his toe, “If he gets good at it, he can make cakes on demand. You want to cosy up to someone like that.” 

“If Lady Ann hears he can bake…” Morgana frowned up at him, “You can’t tell her that he bakes!”

Unfortunately, Ann already knew after a spontaneous visit to their apartment. She witnessed Goro chase him out of the kitchen for the crime of eating uncooked cookie dough, something she still teased him about, “Uh, sure.” 

Akira finished up his curry, boxing them up as leftovers in case one of Goro’s meals didn’t pan out (less likely nowadays, but still a possibility), and gave his goodbyes after one coffee with Boss. That reminded him, he needed to get a proper set up for his coffee back in the apartment. While Goro mastered the oven, Akira was still the undisputed coffee brewer in their home. 

“I’m home~” he called when he returned, taking off his shoes and closing their apartment door with his hip. The air smelled nice, of something freshly baked, and he smiled when Goro poked his head out of the small kitchenette. His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a smudge of flour on his cheek and handprints of it down the front of his bright red apron. It was a cute look on him.

“Oh, you’re back,” Goro said, eyeing the boxes in Akira’s hands, “Curry?”

“Yeah, got any spare room in the freezer or is that giant slab of meat still in there?”

“There’s room.”

The oven was still lit when Akira shuffled into the kitchenette, the pair of them easily making room for each other as he put the curry into the freezer and Goro flicked through one of his cookbooks. They used to only have one cookbook when this whole thing started, but now an entire shelf in their bookcase was dedicated to cooking, thick, hefty tomes that could kill a man. They were all Goro’s. 

“So, what’s cookin’ good lookin’?” Akira purred once he finished with the freezer, reaching over to play with Goro’s apron strings, “It smells nice.”

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” Goro said, turning away from his cookbook to face him. Akira’s fingers played with the front of Goro’s apron instead, tracing the Featherman logo and the stitching as his smile became more fond than playful. 

“You’ve got some flour… here,” Akira murmured, tapping his own cheek. 

Goro didn’t move to rub it away. He leaned back slightly, resting against the edge of the countertop as he tilted his head to the side, murmuring; “Where?”

“Here,” Akira repeated, knowing what he wanted. He lifted his hand from his apron, rubbing his thumb where the streak of white was, along the sharp line of Goro’s cheek. His palm cupped his face, the contact featherlight, the warm, intimate air prompting Akira to lean in a little more. 

Goro watched him from beneath his eyelashes, mouth curving into a pleased smile. 

“You’re so _easy,_ ” Goro laughed quietly, and met his kiss halfway. 

_he’s happier,_ Akira noted absently as they parted from the short yet sweet kiss, taking in the relaxed lines of Goro’s face. He seemed less stressed, more focused, less… despondent? He sure hadn’t been this playful and light-hearted before his cooking obsession claimed him.

“Mm, I’m just weak for all this,” Akira said, pulling back and tapping the front of Goro’s apron, “The cooking, cleaning, and this cute apron. You’re such a good househusband.” 

“A _househus-_ ” Goro flushed _pink,_ and Akira laughed when his boyfriend picked up the tea towel and swatted at him with it, “Get out of my kitchen, Kurusu!” 

Akira laughed, letting himself get chased out, not caring how silly and childish the whole thing is, “Okay! Fine! I’m going for a shower!” 

“I don’t care!” 

Pfft, and he called _Akira_ easy _._

* * *

It was coming up to the anniversary of the Phantom Thieves’ formation, a fun little celebration they still kept up despite going their separate ways. Boss let them take over Leblanc for the day, normally, and the only rule was that everyone had to bring something to the party. 

Usually, Akira brought curry to represent the Joker-Crow combo, but this year… 

“Goro, stop fussing,” he sighed, swatting his boyfriend’s hands away from the box their contribution was stowed in, “They’re fine.”

“You’re being too rough with them!” Goro hissed, but he did, in fact, stop fussing, wringing his hands together in his lap as their train trundled towards Yongen-Jaya. It was mildly amusing at how nervous he looked for the upcoming celebration, but Akira kindly didn’t comment on it. This was the first time Goro was actually putting in some effort in bridging the awkward (and in some cases, frigid) gap between him and the rest of the Phantom Thieves, and Akira didn’t want to kill that effort because he couldn’t hold back the urge to tease. 

It had taken a long while, but Goro was finally creeping out of his prickly shell, albeit it was with all the speed and caution of a newborn fawn tottering on unsteady legs. His conversations nowadays were less on the futility of having a worthwhile future when one was a disgraced criminal, and more on what sort of meal he should try to make next, or roping Akira into trying out some crazy, foreign dish he took a crack at. 

It was always a fifty-fifty chance of either being a disaster or a success, but even the disasters were fun, and Goro seemed to acquaint the failures as amusing learning experiences, rather than a blow to his sense of worth. 

All because he decided to learn how to cook, for whatever reason. 

_i bet it was his therapist who suggested it,_ Akira mused, reaching out with his hand and grasping Goro’s, stopping his nervous hand-wringing, _‘all we do is sit and stare at each other’ my ass._

“Relax,” Akira said, giving Goro’s fingers a squeeze, “They’ll like it. We’ll have to beat Ann off with a stick, though.” 

“I am not standing between her and cake, so you’re on your own,” Goro muttered stiffly, but some of the tension bled out of his shoulders, his mouth curving into a smile. 

Akira couldn’t help but smile back. 

It wasn’t a complete solution, he knew. Goro’s first steps at bridging the gap were only that: first steps, and his new hobby of cooking wasn’t going to miraculously fix his problems revolving around opportunities slamming their doors in his face because of his past choices. Goro still woke up a few times from his nightmares, and so did Akira, and sometimes the days seemed darker than they were, less fixable. 

But these were the beginning steps, and they were always the shakiest. 

In any case: it was a good start. Enough to figure things out. 


End file.
